


Cobbled Together Lifetime

by amirosebooks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Dean Winchester's Terrible Life, Pictures, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 03:59:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10325120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amirosebooks/pseuds/amirosebooks
Summary: Mary finds a photo album in the bunker that documents her sons's lives in pictures.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever cry? Because I did writing this. Sorry, not sorry.  
> You can find me on tumblr: http://amirosebooks.tumblr.com

There was a leather bound photo album tucked between an ancient book of Enochian translations and another book so old the gold lettering on its spine was practically worn away. Mary carefully pulled the photo album from the shelf and took it with her to one of the nearby tables.

The spine creaked with stiffness when she splayed it open. On the first page was a picture of the boys when they were tiny with her and John. Rationally, she knew that the picture was now several decades old, but to her it still felt like it was just three months ago. John had gotten home from work and found Mary and the boys playing in the backyard. She’d held Sam in her lap while Dean raced around the backyard picking things up and showing them to his younger brother while explaining what everything was.

“Look Sammy, this is a rock!” Dean’s excited four-year-old voice echoed in her memories. “It’s really hard. Johnny Wilson at my preschool threw one at Albert’s head and he got in _big_ trouble.”

When the object of Dean’s focus was too big or too far away for him to pick up and bring back to his little brother, Dean would point.

“Look Sammy, it’s a bird!” Dean said. His tiny hand waved in the direction of a couple of sparrows roosting in the neighbor’s tree. “Johnny Wilson said they eat worms. Gross!”

Dean squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head like a horse trying to shoo a pesky fly. Sam giggled in her arms and babbled back at Dean.

John found the three of them like that and insisted on setting up the family’s camera on one of their outdoor chairs to capture the memory.

Mary swiped at the wetness spilling from her eyes and turned the page.

There were only two more pages of baby pictures. Mary recognized them as being ones they’d put aside in their safety deposit box or sent to friends to celebrate milestones as their kids grew. The last one she recognized was one of Dean asleep on their couch with a sleeping Sam tucked under Dean’s little four-year-old arm. This was the picture she’d kept tucked away on the sun visor of the Impala.

She turned another page and came face-to-face with two things no one should never see. A newspaper clipping talking about her death with her smiling face staring up at her and a one-page pamphlet from her own funeral service.

Mary stood up. Her chair squeaked as it slid across the tile floor. She ignored it in favor of grabbing a beer from the boys’s fridge. She didn’t bother to look for their bottle opener, instead she used the edge of the counter and the meat of her palm to pop off the cap.

After several long pulls from the bottle, Mary stood in the middle of the boys kitchen staring out the door. She chewed her bottom lip and blinked at the sting in her eyes.

 _You can get through this_ , she told herself.

She drained the bottle and dropped it in the bin Dean had made a point to explain was for their recycling. Then she grabbed another bottle and headed back to the library.

Time slipped away from her as she turned page after page.

There were very few pictures of her boys when they were kids. A newspaper clipping with a picture of a freckled boy who won a wrestling competition, he had Dean’s eyes and a different name. Another clipping of a boy she thought might be Sam grinning proudly after winning second place in a spelling bee. Again, the accomplishment was listed under a false name.

There was a creased, worn piece of paper from Stanford addressed to Sam, under his real name, saying he was accepted into their law program. On the opposite page was a picture of John with both of the boys standing in front of the Impala. The three of them looked heartsick and miserable behind their smiles. The ghosted hints of wrinkles she’d seen forming on John’s face before she died were carved deep and echoed by the gray in his hair.

An obituary for a girl named Jessica dated a few years after the Stanford letter was on the page behind the group picture.

The pictures picked up their pace after that. Low quality pictures of Sam asleep in the front seat of the Impala with gummy bears resting on his cheek. A picture of both boys standing on the side of the road, holding the camera at arms length. Dean was grinning and Sam had an exacerbated smile that reminded Mary so much of John that she found herself blinking away tears again.

A man with a scruffy beard and a beat up baseball cap started appearing in the pictures. She was fairly sure his name was Bobby. He looked kind.

There was a folded up front page of a newspaper with the date September 18, 2008.

A group photo with her boys, Bobby, Cas, and a few other people she didn’t recognize made her smile. There was something tense in their body language.

An obituary for the two women—Ellen and Joanna Beth—was followed too soon by one for Bobby.

The pictures slowed again. Her boys started looking more tired, weary. She watched them age with each passing page. Hints of wrinkles etched deeper and deeper. Circles beneath their eyes got darker and darker. Even the angel looked like he was starting to age from whatever her boys went through over the years.

Mary found herself laughing when she came across a picture of Dean wearing a suit and a gold, plastic crown. His mouth was twisted into a sarcastic smile. In the next picture he was dressed up in a medieval costume and he had an arm thrown around the shoulders of a redheaded girl with a smile nearly as wide as Dean’s. There were a few more pictures of them in their costumes smiling, sword fighting, and drinking from big metal mugs. Another picture showed Dean in a red costume with blue face paint. The next had Dean in the same face paint and red costume with his arms wrapped around the redhead and Sam, who looked less enthusiastic about wearing the costume than his brother. From the brochure tucked on the next page, Mary assumed these pictures were taken at a Renaissance Festival set in Moondor, wherever that was.

Pictures that were obviously taken in the bunker started showing up after that.

Sam sitting at one of these tables with his nose in a book. Dean dressed in a robe with his feet kicked up and a mug of coffee in his hands. Dean and the redheaded girl sitting in front of a laptop laughing together. A boy with dark hair and tired eyes glaring at the camera while Dean grinned in the background. Sam holding up a big plastic sandwich bag filled with glitter and… his phone? Sam a few minutes later holding Dean in a headlock, both of her boys were grinning despite their scuffle.

A picture of Dean and the redheaded girl on Dean’s bed. She was asleep on his shoulder and he was looking at her with a fond smile.

“Hey mom,” Dean’s voice cut through her thoughts.

Mary nearly jumped out of her skin as she turned to face her oldest son.

“Woah, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Dean said. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Mary said. “I found your photo album. I thought it would help to… I don’t know.”

Dean smiled at her. She could see the sadness radiating from his green eyes.

Mary cleared her throat and gestured at the open album.

“Who is this girl?” Mary asked. “Was she your girlfriend?”

“What?” Dean asked. He took a seat next to her and turned the album so he could see the picture. A miserable sound slipped from the back of his throat. He sniffed and spared Mary a quick glance. “No, not a girlfriend. That’s Charlie, the little sister I never wanted.” His voice cracked. “The one I didn’t deserve.”

Mary wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulder.

For a moment he let himself relax into her comforting hold. Then he straightened and gave her a tight smile.

“Want me to guide you through everything?” Dean asked. “Some context might help.”

“I’d like that,” Mary said.

Dean sniffed again and moved back to the front page of the album.

“This is the only picture of the four of us that survived the fire,” Dean said. “I don’t remember that day, but this picture is one that’s kept me going in a lot of really dark places.”


End file.
